


Because You're My Brother

by oclark1226



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Damian Wayne, Sick Dick Grayson, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oclark1226/pseuds/oclark1226
Summary: While Bruce is lost to time, Dick has been taking over his responsibilities. Unfortunately, raising a former assassin, running a company, and being Batman is a full-time job. The stress and exhaustion finally breaks through to him, but it takes Damian to get him to stop and rest after he runs himself into the ground. Told from Damian's point of view.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 172





	Because You're My Brother

**Author's Note:**

> It's fluffy, it's a bit domestic, it's Dick being a dumbass and Damian making sure Dick doesn't die of stress. I made Dick a little extra salty and stubborn because of his martyr complex of course. Good times all around. Enjoy!

Damian found Grayson asleep at the dining room table when he arrived for breakfast. His head rested on his arms which were folded on the table, probably asleep as well. Sheets of paper littered the surface surrounding him, most pertaining to Wayne Enterprises. A pen and an empty glass were off to his right while his phone, buzzing and lighting up with notifications, sat to his left. 

Damian scowled. Grayson hadn’t been taking care of himself very well since the “death” of Bruce Wayne. Even though progress was being made to getting him back to them, Dick Grayson was still, publicly, the head of the Wayne’s disjointed family, which included both the business and superhero aspects. In addition to that, Pennyworth had just left for a brief two-week vacation that Grayson had insisted on.

Damian sighed and walked over. Now that he was closer, he could see the dark bags under Grayson’s eyes. It pained him, but Damian shook his shoulder gently to wake his older brother. Based on his phone’s activity, he had a full day ahead of him. Grayson jolted up quickly, then groaned, holding his head.

“Dami, ugh, what time is it?” Grayson’s voice came out hoarse and he tried to clear his throat, but ended up coughing into his fist. His other hand scrabbled for his phone to read the time. “Shit,” he croaked out, dashing out of the room with his phone still in his grasp. “Have a good day at school!” Grayson shouted back with a wave as he disappeared. 

Damian huffed, watching him go. Turning back to the table, he scanned the papers now abandoned. Finding nothing of interest, he gathered them together in a neat pile for Grayson to deal with later. He placed the glass by the sink and began preparing his own breakfast. As he ate, he listened halfhearted to the sounds of Grayson running through the penthouse as he scrambled to get ready.

Between paperwork, meetings, and phone calls, Grayson rarely had time to spend with Damian outside of patrols. Even then, it was Batman and Robin, not Richard and Damian; it was different. After patrols, Grayson remained in the cowl as he sent Damian to bed, working on unsolved cases till the early hours of the morning. Damian wasn’t sure when the man ever slept. 

He didn’t see Grayson again until much later in the day. After he got home from school, Damian did his homework, trained, and repaired some of his Robin gear alone. Grayson finally came down to the bunker around ten o’clock, looking exhausted. Damian paused his sword sharpening to watch as the man slumped down at the computer with a yawn. 

“When are we going out?” Damian asked curtly, standing up and walking to stand next to the computer chair. He sheathed his sword and put his hands on his hips, looking expectantly at Grayson. Each blink was slow and his movements were heavy, lethargic. “Grayson?” Damian shook him by the shoulder with a sense of déjà vu. 

“Soon, kiddo, soon,” Grayson replied, lazily swatting his hand away. “Just need a minute,” he trailed off, scanning the screen in front of him. He coughed, turning away from Damian to bring up his elbow. It was a wet, rasping sound, and Damian didn’t like it. 

“Are you sure you’re well enough to patrol tonight?” Damian asked, arms crossed. Concern bled into his tone, as much as he tried not to let it. “I could patrol alone, or—”

“I’m fine, Damian,” Grayson responded, turning back to him. Even though he’d caught his breath and cleared his throat, his voice still sounded strained. All the same, he turned to Damian with a smile. “A little cold never stopped Batman before.”

Damian wasn’t happy with that answer, but he didn’t argue. Soon enough, they were in uniform and in the Batmobile, ready to go. They made their way through the city to their intended vantage point, leaving the vehicle a few blocks away. They grappled up to the rooftop and settled in for the next few hours.

As Grayson yawned for the fourth time that night, Damian huffed, “If this stakeout is so boring for you, perhaps you should just take a nap.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another in his crouched position on the rooftop’s edge, glancing over at the silhouette of Batman next to him. 

Grayson didn’t answer, too focused on the street below them. His breath puffed out visibly from under the cowl; the temperature had dropped below freezing and Damian was thankful for the insulation in their suits. Grayson had been rather quiet thus far, more so than usual. However, Damian didn’t comment on it, simply enjoying the comfortable silence between them. 

Grayson suddenly shifted and Damian scanned the area below. They were watching the side entrance of a toy store reportedly involved in human trafficking. The door had finally opened, revealing two armed men followed by four unarmed men tugging a teenage girl between them. She had something in her mouth that kept her from crying out, but it certainly didn’t stop her from struggling.

Damian waited impatiently for Grayson’s signal. He supposed they had to wait and see if anyone else emerged from the door before taking on the group. Two more men entered the alley, also armed. As Damian and Grayson waited, a box truck made its way down the street, backing up into the alley and blocking their view. 

One motion from Grayson and Damian knew it was time to attack. They swung down from the roof together, Damian targeting the last set of armed men while Grayson landed on top of the truck itself for maximum intimidation. Damian swiftly disarmed the men, kicking them both against the brick wall of the shop hard enough to keep them down for a few minutes. 

He turned towards the rest of the group to see Grayson throw a smoke pellet and disappear. Relying on the thermal imaging provided by his mask, Damian joined him in the cloud of smoke. He saw what appeared to be the young girl held by two men instead of the initial four and leapt on the opportunity. 

He threw a batarang at one and swept the other off his feet. While they were distracted, Damian grabbed the girl by her shoulders and half-carried, half-shoved her out of the smoke. Once they were out of the worst of it, he removed the makeshift cloth gag from her mouth quickly but gently. “Go, police are on their way,” he ordered at her before giving her a final push into the street. 

He turned around to see the smoke dissipating, revealing Grayson dueling the remaining four men. It should have been child’s play for the vigilante, but something was slowing him. His reflexes were dulled, his movements milliseconds late. Just as Damian ran in to help, the two men he thought he’d incapacitated earlier tackled him, pinning him to the ground. 

One of them shoved a blade against his throat and he resisted the urge to swallow against it. The other shifted his body weight to keep Damian’s legs down and both had a good grip on his arms. No matter how he struggled, he wasn’t able to throw them off. He craned his neck, straining to see if Grayson had noticed yet, but he was still dealing with three of the four men. 

Damian watched as Grayson’s sluggishness left him vulnerable to an attack from the side, which one of the men took advantage of. The knee into his stomach knocked the breath from his lungs and Grayson fell to his knees, coughing. Damian struggled under the arms of his captors as his mentor was kicked in the head, the stomach, the ribs. 

He finally reached a batarang in his utility belt, using it slash at one of the arms holding him down. The man with the knife cried out, dropping his weapon in shock. Now that his torso was free, he twisted out of the other man’s grasp and headbutted him, allowing him to roll to his feet. 

Damian threw another batarang with pinpoint accuracy into the back of the man who’d gotten that lucky shot on Grayson. He fell to his knees, screaming, and Damian made quick work of the other two men. With the criminals moaning or unconscious on the ground, he shifted his attention to Grayson. His older brother was still coughing hard, and blood spotted the pavement in front of him. Thankfully, Damian saw the blood originated from a split lip, not from an internal injury. 

As he ran over, he used his gauntlet to call the Batmobile to their location. Grayson had pushed himself up to his hands and knees, not coughing, but not breathing well either. There was a rasp to his breathing, something that made him cough a few more times before Damian reached his side. 

“Batman, are you—”

“I’m fine, Robin,” Grayson grunted. His impersonation of Father’s “Batman voice” had improved significantly since the beginning and held a commanding authority to it that Damian unconsciously responded to. Grayson got to his feet and wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his gloved hand. 

Damian narrowed his eyes. He knew how to read body language; Grayson was not _fine._ He was still hurting, favoring one side as they approached the Batmobile at the end of the alley. When Grayson called it a night, Damian held his tongue. They drove back to the bunker in silence.

Grayson went straight to their medical supplies when they arrived. He stripped off the top half of the suit to reveal black and purple bruising on his torso, mostly to his right side. Wincing, he wrapped his ribs tightly as Damian watched on. His mentor was acting strangely. For all the times he’d told Damian that it was perfectly okay to admit weakness, he seemed to struggle to follow his own advice. 

As usual, Damian showered and changed on his own, but he paused before the elevator to the penthouse. Grayson was having another coughing fit at the computer, one arm wrapped around his chest as the other braced against the armrest of the chair. It took him a minute to regain his breath and he clutched his head with a wince. Damian took note of all of this, then left in silence. 

…

The next morning, Damian couldn’t find Grayson. He wasn’t in his room, the dining room, any of the bathrooms, or on the rooftop. He found him asleep down in the bunker at the computer, still wearing the bottom half of his suit. Damian clenched his teeth. That did it. He wasn’t going to school today. And Grayson wasn’t going to work. 

Stomping over like a petulant child, Damian shook Grayson’s shoulders roughly until he woke. “Huh—wha’s happen—Dami?” His words came out scattered and confused as he tried to figure out where he was. “Oh, fell asleep down here again,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes.

“ _Again?_ ” Damian demanded. Before Grayson could respond, another bout of coughs took him by surprise. Damian was too shocked to do anything at first, but eventually settled on awkwardly rubbing up and down Grayson’s back until he regained control of himself. 

Grayson got to his feet unsteadily and moved to step away from the computer. “Shit, Dames, I’m gonna be late again and I really can’t afford to—”

“No!” Damian shouted. “You aren’t leaving!” 

Grayson gave him a sympathetic look. “Look kiddo, I have to go. I have responsibilities as the current—"

Damian shook his head and planted himself in Grayson’s way. “No. You’ll have to get through me first.” He positioned himself in a fighting stance, making it clear to Grayson that he meant it. 

“Are we really doing this?” Grayson sighed. “Fine, fine.” He mirrored Damian’s stance and took the first swing, which Damian dodged easily. Damian landed a hit on Grayson’s bruised side, knocking the breath out of him. While he was stunned, Damian knocked his feet out from under him and knelt down on Grayson’s chest, holding his forearm loosely against his throat. 

Grayson panted underneath him, grimacing, and Damian climbed off so the man could catch his breath. Instead of getting the message, Grayson got back into his stance. Damian could clearly see the sweat glistening on his forehead, the uneasy sway that threw off his balance, and the lack of focus in his eyes. 

With a frustrated growl, Damian ran back at him, feinting to the left and kicking out to the right. Grayson grabbed his leg and threw him with his momentum. Damian rolled as he hit the ground and dodged just in time to avoid a jab in the ribs. Grayson’s inertia carried him too far forward and Damian seized the opportunity to tackle the other man to the ground. 

Grayson landed on his stomach, Damian on his back. “I am _not_ getting off until you admit defeat,” he declared haughtily. 

“Damian, this isn’t funny,” Grayson growled. “I need to leave and you’re being ridiculous.” He twisted his legs to throw Damian backwards and off of his back. He got back to his feet and tried to lunge forward, but only swayed and stumbled. Damian wasn’t fast enough to catch Dick as he fell, unconscious. 

…

“Richard? Are you awake?”

Grayson groaned, forcing his eyes open. Damian stood next to the bed he was on, a tray in his hands. “I made you soup,” he offered with a shrug. His eyes widened as the soup nearly spilled with the movement, then he carefully set it on the bedside table. 

“Wha’happened?” Grayson murmured, still not feeling fully awake. Something damp rested on his forehead and he felt shivers race down his spine. Before Damian could answer, Grayson started coughing, worse than before. Damian helped him sit up, putting the washcloth off to the side and instead placing a trashcan in Grayson’s lap. 

Grayson’s coughing rapidly evolved into gagging as he spit into the bucket and his stomach rolled. He couldn’t fight the overwhelming nausea that struck and retched, throwing up bile. The muscles in his stomach cramped and his bruised ribs throbbed with the movement. He retched again, but nothing more came up. Once the dry heaves had passed, he leaned back against the headboard shakily. 

Damian removed the trashcan without a word of complaint, simply laying the back of his hand against Grayson’s forehead as he caught his breath. “You’re sick,” Damian announced matter-of-factly. 

Grayson would’ve rolled his eyes if they were open still. “Yeah, I know,” he whispered weakly. He exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the tickle still residing in his throat. Before he could take in another breath, he coughed hard again, doubling over and hugging himself with one arm. Damian grabbed his shoulders on instinct, trying to keep him stable. Not knowing what else to do, he firmly held Grayson’s bicep with one hand and rubbed his back with the other.

Damian stayed like that for the better part of five minutes. It seemed that whenever Grayson got a decent breath, something else started a new round of coughing. Even when he seemed to be through the worst of it, Damian didn’t move. If he left Richard’s side, would he be okay? This shouldn’t be much more severe than the flu, but people had died from that before. 

Richard seemed to pick up on this, though how, Damian had no idea. Grayson laid his own hand atop of Damian’s on his arm, giving it a comforting squeeze. Even with watery eyes and labored breaths, he smiled at Damian. “I’m okay, kiddo,” he rasped softly. “Been through worse. I’ll be fine.” With that, he shifted so he could lay back down, which forced Damian’s hands to return to his sides. 

A few wheezing coughs followed, but Grayson let his eyes fall shut and appeared to fall asleep quickly. Damian didn’t move. He _couldn’t_ move. Pennyworth was gone. Father was gone. Drake and Todd were away. It was just him and Richard and Richard was unwell and hurting and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Grayson’s breathing was just barely audible, loud enough to draw Damian’s attention to it, and he _hated_ it. That sound was wrong. It didn’t belong to his brother, not Richard. His fists clenched and relaxed, over and over. He really needed something to do before he snapped. 

Turning back towards the soup on its tray, he realized Grayson might not be up to eating anything for a while, so he should probably take it back to the kitchen so it could be warmed up later. But going to the kitchen meant leaving his brother, and that sent spikes of fear straight into his heart. Okay, no kitchen. So, what could he do from here?

Damian recalled the first and only time so far that he’d been sick enough to miss patrol with Grayson. Pennyworth had provided soup and plenty of water to keep him hydrated. Richard had insisted on him resting, so much so that he’d forced a movie night upon the two of them the first night he was ill. They’d fallen asleep on the couch, Grayson’s arms wrapped around Damian protectively. 

Of course, the next night found him alone on the couch, watching some other movie while Pennyworth monitored Grayson from the bunker and Batman hit the streets alone. After that, he’d been deemed well enough to go back out, with a few restrictions. His illness hadn’t been this severe; only a fever and sore throat. 

Damian looked around Grayson’s room. He didn’t have a TV in it, but Damian knew of a medium-sized flatscreen that he could probably prop up on Grayson’s dresser or desk. It was just down the hall, not nearly as far away as the kitchen, but Damian hesitated. His instincts as Robin wanted him to protect, but there was no enemy to directly fight against. It was between Richard and his own body. All Damian could do was keep him comfortable.

With that thought running through his head like a mantra, he swiftly walked out of the room before he could have second thoughts. He retrieved the TV from the guest room and lugged it back to Grayson’s room. He carefully left it on the ground at the door to go check on Richard, even though less than a minute had passed. 

Grayson was still asleep, still breathing. Damian realized he hadn’t replaced the cool washcloth from before and quickly found it, returning it to Richard’s sweaty forehead. The man was paler than usual. Just another symptom that made Damian’s teeth clench and grind together. 

Logically, Richard would be fine. Logically, this wasn’t that serious. But logically, Damian was still a kid, and he wasn’t confident in his caretaking abilities. The League hadn’t exactly prioritized that knowledge during his upbringing. 

He needed to focus. So far, finding things to do that were within his abilities had helped to distract him from Grayson’s state, so he was going to continue. First, he needed to set up the TV. He had to drag the dresser over a few feet to make viewing more comfortable from the bed, then hefted the TV on top. Once he plugged it into the wall, he turned it on and made sure the volume was nearly silent as he searched for any familiar titles.

He ended up settling on some Christmas movie that he vaguely recalled watching with Richard. Now that one task was complete, he moved onto the next: empty the trashcan filled with vomit. He only had to go to the adjacent bathroom for that and it didn’t take long. 

Finally, he glanced again at the dreaded soup. It really didn’t need to be in the room at this point. Richard was dead asleep and would probably remain that way for a while. Damian mustered up his courage and made the trek from the bedroom to the kitchen, leaving the tray in the microwave for safety, then dashed back to Richard with a glass of water at the ready. 

He ran through his mental checklist: movie, trashcan, and food and water were all taken care of. Now was his least favorite step: waiting. Grayson had only been asleep for an hour or so by this point and it was still early morning. If he was honest, Damian wasn’t against the idea of taking a nap himself. And if there was a bed right there…

Damian made sure the trashcan and glass of water were easily accessible to Richard before he crept to the other side of the bed and carefully climbed up to sit next to his brother. Grayson showed no indication of waking up, so he slowly maneuvered the blankets under himself and laid down. If Richard woke up, he would wake up as well, and be ready to help however needed. For now, they could both use some rest. 

…

When Damian woke, there was an empty space next to him. He sighed aloud and got out of the bed, turning off the TV. In the sudden quiet, he could hear Grayson coughing from somewhere down the hall. He huffed to himself angrily and prepared to argue with a very stubborn, very _sick,_ Dick Grayson. 

He stomped down the hall to the kitchen of the penthouse to find Grayson leaning against the counter in black sweatpants and a dark blue sweatshirt. The bags under his eyes looked worse than they had before and he was trying to stifle his coughs. Just as Damian opened his mouth to speak, the microwave started beeping and Grayson took out the bowl of soup from earlier.

“Grayson. What do you think you’re doing?” Damian demanded with arms crossed tightly against his chest. 

“Damian,” Grayson sighed. His voice came out as little more than a whisper. “I’m capable of warming up soup. I’m not helpless.” He took his soup with him to the dining room table, sitting down and blowing at the steam halfheartedly. He started fighting a coughing fit again, but this time, it won. Damian, still angry, stood in the doorway and did nothing as Grayson’s deep coughs reverberated through the room. 

“You were _supposed_ to stay in bed,” Damian remarked coldly. Grayson glanced up at him while he coughed into his arm, but didn’t answer. Damian bared his teeth. “Grayson. Answer me!”

Grayson, still catching his breath, stood abruptly. The sound of his chair scraping backwards startled Damian, who stepped back without thinking. “I’m done having this conversation, Damian,” Grayson rasped as loudly as he could manage. His ice blue eyes cut into Damian’s own. “Yes, I’m sick. But you still need to go to school and I still need to go to work and Gotham still needs Batman and Robin. And I don’t know _what’s_ been up with you lately. One second, you hate me; the next, you don’t, and it’s exhausting trying to keep up with you.”

Grayson was out of breath by the end of his rant and carefully lowered himself back down into his chair, resting his forehead on his folded arms. Damian still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t thought of his own behavior as a factor in Grayson’s overworked, exhausted state. He didn’t want Grayson to know that he actually _did_ care for his brother, but he didn’t want to push him away either. 

Logic ingrained into him by the League warred with the kindness and compassion he’d learned from Grayson, and even Pennyworth. Outward expressions of emotion were supposed to be a sign of weakness, but his two caretakers were far from helpless and they showed Damian love in every little thing they did. He’d already come to disregard some teachings from the League; maybe it was time to unlearn some more.

Against his instincts, Damian cautiously walked over to Grayson, who was still hunched over on the tabletop. One hand at a time, Damian slowly hugged him from the side, wrapping his arms loosely around Grayson’s neck and leaning just slightly against his shoulder. Damian barely felt a shiver run down the man’s back as he relaxed his tense shoulders against Damian’s side. 

They stayed silent and unmoving until Grayson suddenly sat upright, causing Damian to pull his arms away just in time for his older brother to sneeze loudly into his sleeve. Grayson groaned and leaned back toward the table, holding his forehead in his hands.

“Headache?” Damian asked quietly. Grayson nodded mutely. Without another word, Damian went back to the kitchen, returning to the table with mild painkillers and a glass of water. “You’re probably dehydrated,” Damian observed, still keeping his voice down. Grayson downed the pills and emptied the glass quicky. 

“Thank you,” Grayson whispered. Damian noticed his voice sounded rougher than before. Their arguing had certainly done some more damage to his throat. “I’m sorry, Dames. There’s been a lot going on recently and I—”

Damian held up his hand and shook his head. “Shut up. I know.”

Grayson gave him a small smile. “Yeah, kiddo. Of course you do.” His smile melted away as he sighed. “I really do need to get back to work soon. And you _should_ be at school,” he added with a weak glare. Damian raised an eyebrow, but was otherwise unaffected. “But I suppose one day off wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Grayson admitted softly. 

Damian watched as his brother slowly stood up and began making his way back to his room. Damian met him there after refilling his glass of water and setting it on the bedside table. Grayson was already laying down under his blankets with his pillows propped up somewhat behind him so he was facing more forward than upward. He handed the TV remote to Damian silently, then patted the empty spot next to him where Damian had slept earlier. 

Damian couldn’t find it in himself to huff or roll his eyes at his brother, so he just returned to his place on Grayson’s bed and searched for another movie. As he scrolled through channels, he heard Grayson hum contently beside him. Glancing over, he saw Richard was facing him, eyes closed and breathing deeply. It was quite impressive how quickly he could fall asleep.

Damian settled on a cartoon that seemed vaguely familiar and settled down carefully, trying not to wake Grayson. He’d gladly miss school and even a night of patrol to know that his brother, his guardian, his mentor, was safe here at home.


End file.
